


Long Live The Bloody King

by iamtheoneinthehole



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: References to Minor Character Death, king AU, minecraft au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheoneinthehole/pseuds/iamtheoneinthehole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one really knew for certain what the Bloody King's true origins had been, though countless speculation had been dedicated to the subject... And honestly, it made Ryan's eyes roll just to think about it because really, was he the only one who recognized that knowing the whole story wouldn't change the way it ended?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live The Bloody King

**Author's Note:**

> So this originally started out because I was curious to see what would happen if I reversed Michael and Ryan's roles in the Mad King!Ryan, Warrior!Michael trope and... then it just sort of got away from itself (to think, I was actually convinced this would be a 4k fic). I'm really pleased with the way it turned out though, enjoy!

No one really knew for certain what the man’s _true_ origins had been.

Of course they’d all heard the pretty tales spun by his councillors; a man forged in fire and ash. A man who _burned,_ the way that all those who’d strayed from the nether realm did. And yet there’d been a certain _coldness_ to his flames, unnatural for someone of that realm, and it’d set him apart from the others. Supposedly it’d made him seem more relatable at first, moments of ‘light heartedness’ creeping through his fiery exterior. It’d made men trust him, enough to go to him for advice, to train with him and to fight at his side on the battlefield. Even their former monarch had admired him, to the extent that he’d actually asked the man to join his court.

And to this point, the legends spoken of this man all aligned… It was what had followed, after he’d accepted King Geoffrey’s invitation to court, that no one was quite certain of.

The outer colonies of the Kingdom generally seemed to believe that the warrior had been the devil himself. They were of the belief that all men and women of those unknown, dark and menacing realms beyond the portal were demons of some kind, believed even that it was a gateway to some sort of hell itself. And if regular inhabitants of the nether were demons, then this man _had_ to be the devil incarnate. An advocate of pure evil, sent to their world to tempt and entrap their King and, in failing that, had decided to cut his losses and claim the crown for his own… Beyond the outer colonies any mention of ‘the devil’ or ‘hell portal’ would’ve resulted in rolled eyes and the harsh laughter of the cynic when confronted with the devout believer. To these people though, the man having affiliations with Satan seemed a very real, very sinister possibility.

Some of the more suspicious folk, on the outskirts of the larger villages, also didn’t quite believe the warrior had ever been truly human. They seemed to believe he’d _played_ the innocent long enough to work his way into court, only to drop the facade the moment he stepped through those towering stone walls. Their legends depicted the man as a feral beast, a being more monster than man because… what else could’ve managed to defeat such a powerful and noble monarch as their late King?

Venture inwards however, and you’d find the common folk of those villages believed something else entirely… Their legends claimed that the man had been an innocent, a good soul, and that those glimpses of his good heartedness that people had seen in the man before had been glimpses of this man’s genuine self. These people believed the man had been cursed by some sort of foul enchantment and had become subject to the whims of a powerful sorcerer, or perhaps a member of the Ender tribes. They were in the minority in the sense that they actually considered the man’s innocence, but they’d argue that the original tales had claimed the man to have once been a diligent protector of his own people. For years he’d fought off blaze, zombie pigmen, slime and countless other unimaginable evils... Surely a man willing to take those kinds of risks, for no real gain other than the protection of his people, couldn’t truly be so cold or calculating as to have harmed their former monarch of his own free will, could he?

In a stark contrast to their beliefs, the nobility had been the _first_ to point the finger and to condemn the man. They’d already despised him for being an outsider, a foreign influence, who’d risen up through the ranks and had gained their former monarch’s favour. And when the man had claimed the throne for himself after the late King’s passing, they’d been practically _green_ with envy. Initially they’d lashed out in _quiet_ whispers, still giving wind to caution since speaking in such a way of your monarch, no matter what you thought of him or his claim to the throne, was one of the highest forms of treason. And, even under Geoffrey’s reign, the punishment for treason had been severe…

Gradually though, they’d grown a little cockier in their position, louder rebellious statements escaping their lips during council meetings when no action had been taken against their initial whispers and murmurings of dissent… Apparently the man had been biding his time though, just waiting for an open rebellion to give him the excuse. In the end, it’d only been the nobility themselves that hadn’t seen him coming.

The late King’s inner council however, in stark contrast to the nobility, had been wise enough to keep their mouths shut on the matter, save around those they knew with a certainty they could trust. And if you _did_ happen to be one of those select few, you’d hear about how most of them believed the warrior to have been an assassin sent from his realm, with the orders to take out their former King, but that the assassin had grown mad with power and decided to seize the fallen man’s crown for his own. They believed the man’s initial arrival in court had all been a part of some elaborately planned out hit. That what had come to pass had been utterly inevitable because no one could’ve possibly seen him coming, not when his training had been so obviously honed and colored with an experience far beyond their own… It was enough of an excuse at least to help them sleep a little easier at night. Because the truth was, it was the inner council who’d trusted the man the most and thus they who felt most responsible for King Geoffrey’s passing.

The former King himself was naturally unable to give his perspective on the tale, though perhaps even _he_ wouldn’t have had the whole story.

Truth of the matter was, only one person who knew the story in its entirety; the Red King, the Bloody King, the monarch that the man with a cold fire in his eyes had become. And no one would _dare_ ask him for the tale, not when there was chance he’d make them pay for asking, not when there was a chance he might actually _give_ them an answer they weren’t prepared to hear...

Honestly, it made Ryan’s eyes roll just to _think_ about it.

Because everyone always made such a huge fucking deal about the Red King’s origins, like it’d change the story somehow if they had all the answers. It hardly mattered how this man, because that’s what he was at the end of the day; a _man_ , had risen to power. What mattered was he was powerful and that no one in their right mind would seek to depose him while he maintained that power. You didn’t go up against a warrior from the nether realm ever, _especially_ when said warrior consistently  managed to slaughter practically all who would openly oppose him, along with many of those who wouldn’t. Well, not unless you were a particular brand of suicidal known by the masses as ‘noble’ and ‘brave’...

Ryan certainly had no qualms about being branded without honor and cowardly, especially if it meant he kept his head. He didn’t live for any King and he certainly didn’t intend to die at one’s hand. And if anyone _other_ than the bloodied monarch attempted to question him on that? Well they’d learn pretty quickly that it wasn’t just their King who had a reputation for being brutal, calculating and cold.

\----

If ever there was a word to describe Michael Jones, the last one you’d ever chose was ‘saint’ and yet…

“...the Mighty Red King who shelters us from the dangers of the other realms, from blaze and Ender alike, from the dark and the cold, from bad harvests and bandits and from those who would dare to question his rightful claim…” Warrior of the people, yada yada yada, mighty King, etcetera etcetera… Michael was under no illusions to what they were really saying. ‘Don’t use me for sword practise later’, ‘I have a family’, ‘Maybe if I kiss up enough, I’ll get insert-person-here’s position in his court when they piss him off’. Fucking false flatteries he’d be forced to endure for hours on end because…

There was a fine line between control and chaos. In order for fear to work, there had to be the chance of favor, for mercilessness to endure, a counteracting mercy… though honestly at this point the Red King was more than ready to just yell ‘fuck it all’ and bury his blade in the man’s throat.

Because he was _so fucking tired_ of dealing with his people’s bullshit, of listening to their simpering pleas, watching them pander to him, a mixture of fear and ambition in their eyes… it was why he mostly kept council with people from the nether realm, because at least they’d give it to him bluntly enough that he wouldn’t have to put up with more of this ‘Great Protector’ crap. Everyone in his kingdom knew the only things he’d ever been willing to protect were within his own fucking interests, not theirs, sometimes even directly against theirs and yet…

“...in his radiant glory…” Like some sort of god… then again he supposed, that was the essence of religion wasn’t it. Playing the part, grovelling and pleading at the feet of so higher power and praying that it didn’t crush you under its fucking boot for your troubles.

By the time the councillor had reached his poetic waxings about that clichéd ‘fire’ that apparently ‘burned’ within him, he’d had _more_ than enough of it, openly voicing that he’d be giving all of them a first-hand demonstration of that ‘fire’ if they didn’t get out of his fucking sight... And just like that, the citizens of this kingdom were tripping over their own goddamn feet in their haste to flee the courtroom… Yeah, he smirked to himself, definitely not a saint in their eyes either.

...Nor in his Hand’s apparently given the positively _blazing_ spark of rage that’d ignited in Lindsay’s gaze, the woman stalking over towards Michael in a way that would’ve made most men cower. But then again, most men hadn’t grown up with the woman, weren’t aware of her soft side and intense fondness of Ocelots, weren’t aware of her capacity to love as well as maim… And even ignoring that, Michael had never really fallen into the category of ‘most men’. Even in the lands beyond the portal, where all of them were supposedly ‘savages’, he’d been markedly different from those around him.

Because he’d always lived with the ambition to leave, to explore the realm beyond their own, and his carefully selected Hand of the King had been the first person he’d ever met who’d actually shared that dream. They’d spent years of their childhood just imagining what the world beyond that shimmering portal on the outskirts of their community might look like, had pictured up idyllic worlds with friendly people and no more fucking lava… To say their imaginings had been a little _off_ in that respect would’ve been a serious fucking understatement but it’d still _seemed_ close to idyllic, at first. Years later though and the novelty had started to wear off a little, for both of them. Even in this palace of their own, ruling a kingdom that was in many respects theirs, with Lindsay pacing towards him across their stone floor… he still felt like little more than a fucking prisoner to this realm sometimes.

“Really? Was that really fucking necessary? You know they’re going to be bitching about this later in the courtyards and that’s how the commoners hear, that’s how word of potential rebellions spread and… Fucking hell Michael, I thought we had a system here. You sit through this meeting, you put up with whatever bullshit they spin and they leave happy. Then I let you go out and ‘hunt’ some of the ones that were really pushing their luck later. In the meantime, all you needed to do was sit down and shut the fuck up-”

“I know how this fucking works Linds-”

“Then _act_ like you do! Do you _want_ to have to deal with a rebellion? Because I sure as hell fucking don’t.”

He sighed running his hands idly through his messy curls as he righted the circlet nestled amongst them that’d slipped over into some weird off-kilter angle during the meeting, the gold more than prone to shifting around whenever he wore it given that it hadn’t been designed for him, but for the man he’d taken it from, “You know I don’t… it’s just so goddamn frustrating to have them all spew bullshit about how the sun comes out of my fucking ass-”

“Better that than them spreading rebel propaganda, or the inner council’s secrets. If they’re going to talk, maybe as well be about how you’re the best goddamn King the Kingdom’s ever had.”

“No one actually buys that crap.”

“They don’t have to… they just have to believe that enough of the _rest_ of the Kingdom do. Because what’s the point in rebelling if the people won’t come when you call? Their pandering is what’s keeping your ragey ass on that throne, so can it! And learn to play the fucking game again. For fuck’s sake… you used to be _good_ at this.”

“Guess I just haven’t been feeling it recently.”

“...This is about Gavin isn’t it?”

A phantom pain briefly tingled across the faint angry red line that ran across the redhead’s shoulder at the mention of that name, one that he barely even noticed given the way his stomach had immediately begun to churn… Thankfully though, his Hand seemed to realize she’d gone too far with that comment, cutting through the heavy silence that’d suddenly descended upon the room moments later with a, “Sorry, that was a low blow just… at least _try_ to make it through the next council meeting without stirring up the pot of potential rebellion any further, yeah?”

“...Yeah, okay.”

“And take a goddamn break already, a hunting trip maybe just… get out of the palace grounds for a few days before you end up just as mad as the legends claim. Have fun, let loose a little… And for the love of fucking ghast, try not to cause any more Kingdom-wide civil incidents.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Why doesn’t that reassure me in the slightest?”

\----

It’d been an almost _fittingly_ cold day when Ryan had first laid eyes upon his ‘Bloody King’.

He’d been travelling for hours along the dusty, old, worn down country path that ran between his village and the even smaller one a few settlements over, the intent of trading goods with a few of the merchants there driving his weary feet onwards towards their destination. He hated having to travel this kind of distance for business but… fact was, there was too much goddamn competition in a village devoted to farming for Ryan to make any sufficient sort of profit. And he needed that profit to see him through the winter, now more than ever since both weather and a sudden boost in the creeper population in his area had seriously worked against him in terms of the quantity of crop he’d actually managed to harvest.

He’d gathered just enough wheat to see him through the next two months, maybe three at a push but… beyond that? Well he supposed he’d just have to pray to whichever of his village’s many gods happened to be the most convenient that his cow, Edgar, would put enough milk in the basket to see them through the remaining wintry months.

Needless to say he’d been somewhere between pissed and horrified when he’d finally arrived at the settlement, only to find that business there had come to an indefinite end at the hands of the Bloody King’s bloody _stupid_ knights. Another one of the monarch’s ‘scare campaigns’ perhaps, or maybe the man was simply the borderline sadist that Ryan had always suspected him to be. Either way, their purpose here wasn’t important. What mattered was the serious fucking dent it’d put in  his plans to sell, to survive.

Ryan knew, as he watched these men strike these merchants down where they stood, that he was looking at the grim prospect of starvation, a prospect he’d only faced once before, back when he’d only been a child with little to no knowledge of how cruel the world could truly be. The harvests had come in poorly roughly around his eighth birthday, leaving his mother to make the hard choice of which mouths to feed every night… It’d been the reason Ryan had wound up as an only child, his brother having eventually contracted a potentially fatal disease and perishing due to the lack of sustenance he’d had to fight it. And it’d ultimately been his death that’d bought the rest of Ryan’s family their survival, a heavy price he’d never forgotten, never would forget. It’d been the day he’d passed that Ryan had solemnly vowed, in the way only a child could, that he’d never allow himself to be that close to starvation again.

And perhaps it was that childhood promise that’d driven his admittedly desperate actions in the next few moments, because Ryan _definitely_ hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d turned to the nearest knight and launched himself at him. It’d been in the attempts to intercept a killing blow intended for one of the few remaining merchants within the town, a man called Flynt who’d always been pretty good to him as far as business was concerned. If he survived, chances were Ryan still might manage to make enough to survive the icy seasons and… at the very least, Ryan hadn’t been _totally_ defenceless when he’d intervened.

Ever since his very first trip to the settlement, he’d always carried his family’s sole iron sword on his person, just in case he happened to run into bandits along the path. It’d been the one somewhat impressive family heirloom he’d managed to inherit, other than Edgar, and he fully intended to put it to use where necessary… it just so happened that _this_ was the first time it had been necessary. The knight could probably tell as much too given the slightly bemused look on his features and the shaky at best counter blows he was offering.

Even if he’d been just as seasoned a warrior as the knights were though, he’d _still_ have been pretty damn screwed by the circumstances he was in right now, because an iron sword certainly couldn’t _hope_ to compete with diamond one. Even through the thick, heavy fog of resentment and desperation that’d suddenly descended over him, Ryan knew that the knight’s blade would end up striking his to dust.

He’d held his own for as long as he could though, a strong believer in lying in the beds you made yourself and well aware, regardless, that the Bloody King and his warriors weren’t familiar with a concept such as mercy. He couldn’t hope to be spared if he surrendered, and even if that weren’t the case, his stubborn nature would never have allowed him to stand down at this point. Even as the merchant he’d been protecting moments ago deliberately tripped him, clearly trying to buy his survival by aiding Ryan’s death.

He didn’t blame the man’s intent there. It was a cut throat world and Flynt had never exactly been the most honorable of characters anyway. A man who charged twice as much for his goods as other merchants initially had and had silently assassinated practically all of that competition. He’d always been a snake in the grass to the town, and somewhat of a kindred spirit to Ryan himself since they both liked to live life by the loopholes you could find woven into it. And had their situations been reversed? Perhaps Ryan would’ve thrown Flynt under the rail cart just as easily.

Then again, perhaps he wouldn’t have.

Because he hadn’t been wrong in the belief that these knights were anything but _merciful_ … and throwing someone under the rail cart didn’t tend to save your skin, especially when you were facing a group of warriors who prided themselves on their bloody ruthlessness.

He’d watched empathetically as Flynt’s side had been pierced by the warrior’s blade, faintly registering somewhere in the back of his mind that perhaps he should’ve chosen a more loyal customer to defend as the merchant had collapsed to the ground, the grass turning to crimson beneath his dead weight.

Moments later and the warrior’s focus was back on him, brown eyes with just the faintest hint of anger, though surprisingly little considering his gaze was directed at the man that _had_ just launched himself at the warrior… And okay, admittedly launched at said warrior with an iron sword that really wasn’t going to do much, if any, damage against a diamond one. But the intent to maim had still been there, to kill even perhaps if he’d been fortunate enough to stumble across a rare knight that _didn’t_ know how to work a blade.

According to the rumors sometimes spread of the former King’s court, it wouldn’t have been the first time that incompetence had crept into these warrior’s ranks.

Michael the Bloody however, for all he thought or didn’t think of the man, seemed more than competent enough to have weeded out that weakness within his ranks early on, enough so that regardless of the other circumstances here, Ryan was most likely fucked… Well, he supposed it beat starving to death through another cutting, cold and practically malicious winter.

\----

A few hours, several miles and a handful of corrupt dead merchants later, Michael finally felt like he could fucking _breathe_ again.

They’d chosen to target one of the smaller merchant communities, a place far enough away from the major settlements that it wouldn’t really impact on the welfare of the kingdom as a whole, and that no one would really miss it enough to incite vengeance. It was just enough to send the right message to the rest of the kingdom, a warning instead of a poorly disguised fuck you. And these fuckers had _definitely_ had it coming after their extortionate prices for trade along the border had almost incited an international incident with the Ender tribes…

Because if there was one nation he’d really prefer _not_ to piss off, it was the one whose people were known as ‘agents of darkness and void’, the same agents who he knew were responsible for several monarch assassinations prior to his reign over similar issues… And Michael was a warrior and King, not a suicidal idiot with a god complex. He knew his limits. And blades of void pierced even the strongest of diamonds forged within the fires of his home realm.

So yes, the merchants of this community _had_ definitely had it coming, and any innocents who got caught up in the crossfire, as far as Michael was concerned, was collateral, nothing more. A price worth paying in order to take out some of the chinks in his kingdom’s armor, to eradicate the hidden monsters within his own lands… Because the people of this realm truly could be monstrous. Cowardly, cruel, vindictive and far more horrific than a large portion of the creatures he’d faced in his home realm.

A zombie pigman killed, after all, because it was within their nature to do so, in order to survive. Were they a peaceful creature, they’d still be slaughtered for their putrid smell and the pretty fucking horrifying appearance they gave. A blaze killed inadvertently, simply because of its design. They could even be friendly towards humans who took the time to understand them. Ray especially had managed to get blaze taming down to an art, to the point where no one dared to mess with the man. Because doing so risked those creatures’ fiery wrath. A slime was essentially harmless, albeit perhaps a little annoying at times. Magma cubes could be as loyal and hyperactive as this world’s wolves if you trained them well enough.

Michael himself had grown up with a cube called ‘Mogar’, a pet that’d merrily bounced along behind him wherever he went. He’d been there throughout Michael’s training, hopping companionably at his side as he’d been educated on how to defend the barriers surrounding their settlement in the nether, along with Lindsay, Ray and the other warriors tasked with the duty. And all of that time, the cube had been nothing but loyal, lovable and essentially harmless… provided you weren’t foolish enough to turn on its master.

One of the toughest things about leaving the nether realm had been leaving Mogar behind. He’d known it was the right thing to do though, because his brother would take care of the little guy just as well as Michael had… And the people of other realms feared things that they didn’t understand, feared these creatures that they’d never even _tried_ to. And fear in those realm usually resulted in wars, in mass slaughter, and no doubt in the death of his childhood companion because the people of these worlds were cruel, vindictive, malicious… and far greater monsters than anything Michael had encountered before he’d first crossed through that goddamn portal.

It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen to employ his ‘scare tactics’ now, how he’d earned the titles ‘Bloody’ and ‘Red’. Back in his home realm slaying monsters had been his job, his duty and… well he guessed old habits fucking died hard didn’t they? And more so than that, old instincts. He’d been raised to hunt monsters, to take them out in order to defend his lands, his family and all those he cared for. Just because they wore different, human, faces in this realm didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, or any less in need of being slain.

Like the merchant he’d been about to deliver a killing blow to moments ago. The man had been scum as far as he could tell, perfectly willing to sacrifice children, former neighbors, anyone he could push into his path in order to buy him time, to escape. His death would hardly be something that’d keep Michael up at night and yet… out of all of the citizens of this small community, it’d been _this_ one who’d actually had someone come to his defence, risking Michael’s wrath as he’d deflected his initial, supposed to be killing, blow.

And for a moment? Michael had actually considered letting that rage take over, just to see how the man in front of him would respond to that. If he’d hold his ground here, or would flee like so many other members of this community had done before him. But then he’d caught the man’s gaze, the unwavering lack of fear that’d shone within its depths, and after years of having people fucking cower from him, or place him up on a false, fear driven, pedestal it’d been enough of a goddamn shock to the system to stay his hand.

Moments later and his attention had been drawn back to the merchant as the monster had pushed out a leg to trip the man that’d come to his defence moments ago, clearly in the attempts to make yet another sacrifice to aid his survival. He’d obviously failed to account for the sudden flicker of curiosity that’d stirred in the wake of his protector’s open defiance, as well, apparently, the fact that Michael was a well-seasoned hunter. He knew how to keep track of his targets, to eradicate them with a few deft swipes of his blade and it was _very_ fucking rare, if ever, that he let anything, or anyone, distract him from his intended target… It’d almost been _too_ easy to cut the man down where he stood.

And after that his focus had shifted back to the man who’d attacked him before, the man now sprawled across the dirt thanks to the merchant’s final, cowardly bid for survival. The sword he’d been wielding before had been thrown a good few inches away from the man’s grasp, though Michael moved to rest his foot over the blade regardless. After all, if being King of this realm had taught him anything, it was that there was no such thing as being _too_ cautious.

He’d studied the man for a moment, honestly caught a little off guard by the distinct lack of regret lingering within the man’s gaze. The desperation he’d seen in the man’s face before had long since faded, replacing itself with a grim sort of acceptance of whatever sort of fate Michael had in mind for him. And his eyes held the drawn look of a man anticipating his head on the chopping block and yet… still there was an absolute absence of the fear he’d become so used to seeing, reflected back in the eyes of these people that were never meant to be his.

This man was fearless in the face of what would’ve almost certainly been death if it’d been one of Michael’s knights the man had attacked. Even Ray, who was well known throughout the realm for being the most ‘sympathetic’ and ‘just’ of his warriors, would’ve struck this man down where he stood for launching himself at a knight like that and yet… for once the ‘Bloody King’s’ instinctive reaction wasn’t to respond to this with blood, but with a certain degree of respect. Well that and the simple question of, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Does it really matter? All I am to you is another man you’re going to kill-”

“What makes you so goddamn certain I’m going to kill you?” The man didn’t answer, simply gesturing around them to the community wide slaughter taking place around them, one of his eyebrows lifted in an incredulous arch. “Touché. Usually you’d be right too, I’ve killed men for a lot fucking less but… what can I say? I guess I’m feeling merciful today.”

“I didn’t think knights understood the concept of mercy.”

“Most of them don’t. Lucky for you then I’m not a knight.”

There was a beat of silence as that meaning behind his words seemed to register with his former and then, “ _You’re_ the Bloody King? Huh, I always expected you’d be-”

“Black eyed? Demonic? More fucking beast than man-”

“Taller.”

Michael barely managed to repress the amused quirk his lips threatened to give in response to that, “Size isn’t all that matters you know-”

“It’s what you do with it right? Tell me, are we still talking about your height here or is the ‘Bloody’ part of your title compensating for something else?”

“You know most people wouldn’t fucking _dare_ to talk to their King like that.”

“Luckily for me, I’ve never considered myself to be ‘most people’.” Luckier than the man seemed to realize since it was actually his utter fearlessness that stayed Michael’s sword from swinging.

“What _would_ you consider yourself as then?”

“Probably fucked for this coming winter, provided I actually make it out of this conversation alive.”

“Bad harvests?”

“That and someone massacred my buyers.” So that would explain the ‘noble’ sacrifice he’d made before in stepping between him and the merchant before, he hadn’t wanted to lose his source of profit.

“Is that why you stepped in to protect that backstabbing fuckhead before?”

“Perhaps… why so many questions? From what I’ve heard of your reign it’s always been kill first, regret the lack of ability to interrogate later… So why spare me oh _wondrous_ Bloody King. Am I special?” This time Michael genuinely couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped his lips, the sarcasm hanging off this man’s words as thick as the smoke that rose from the burning huts of the settlement and _so goddamn refreshing._

“Honestly? No fucking clue. Fuck knows I should kill you where you stand for your attack before alone but… you intrigue me I guess.”

“Intrigue you? You mean you’ve never had someone look you in the eyes and tell you to go fuck yourself before?”

Michael felt a familiar flicker of something uneasy stir in his gut, carefully masking it with light amusement as he responded, “Not in this realm.”

“Scare tactics working _too_ well?”

“Something like that.”

“Poor Bloody King, must be _awful_ having subjects that pander to your every whim like that.” Okay _that_ comment had actually annoyed him a little.

“It’s Michael and fucking try having to live a day with the whole goddamn kingdom shoving you up on some stupid fucking pedestal. See how _you_ like it.”

“It beats starving to death like most of your people.”

“You think I can fucking control shit like that?”

“I think you can try instead of slaughtering them for your own amusement.”

“That man you tried to save was a fucking monster-”

“Not arguing with you there. He was essentially the living definition of scum but… how about the other people you and your knights have killed today, the kids, you think they were monsters too?”

Of course he fucking didn’t. “In battle there’s always some kind of sacrifice-”

“Battle? So they stood a fighting chance did they?” He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath, levelling the man’s amused grin with a light glare of his own as he all but snapped at him.

“Are you fucking _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

“Nah, was just curious to see how far that temper of yours really stretched. Further than expected if I’m honest. The way the legends describe you, you’d think you were a common creeper.” The King scoffed a little at that.

“You scared I’m gonna blow up in your face?”

“Not really… but they are. And sooner or later fear always sparks rebellion.”

“Not if you control that fear.” The man scoffed a little at that.

“You think you can _control_ fear? ...Maybe they should call you the ‘Mad King’ instead of the ‘Red’ or the ‘Bloody’ then.”

“If you think I’m so fucking crazy, why haven’t I killed you in some sort of insanity driven rage by now-”

“ _Because_ you’re fucking crazy. I tried to kill you-”

“With a goddamn _iron_ sword.”

“Limited resources don’t take away the intent.”

“You’re not a real threat-”

“Said every King that ever got assassinated to their killer.” Michael winced a little at that, the remark hitting perhaps a little _too_ close to home because… as much as he hated to admit it, this man was fucking _right_.

“Well if you _are_ planning to assassinate me, the least I deserve is a fucking _name_.”

“Ryan and I don’t. Fact is, if I do survive this conversation, I’m not the kind of suicidal idiot to waste that luck on attempting to take you down. Sorry to break it to you this way, but your death really isn’t worth mine.”

Before Michael had really been given the chance to respond to that, Ray’s voice had sudden cut in across the fields with a, “You two done flirting yet? Knights have pretty much finished up here and Lindsay will have your dick stuffed and mounted on a wall if you’re not back by the time you said you’d be, her words not mine.”

The redhead had sighed, offering Ray a nod to show he’d acknowledged the man’s words and trying not to let the usual hurt, which grasped at his chest in a vice-like grip, actually show in his expression as he’d noted the unmistakable apathy in the man’s gaze. He knew Ryan must’ve noticed though given the sudden look of curiosity that seemed to flicker to life in his expression. His survival instincts, thankfully, seemed to be as sharp as he claimed them to be seeing as he kept that any questions that curiosity might spark to his-goddamn-self.

But perhaps it would’ve been easier if he _had_ asked one of them and given the redhead the excuse. Because now instead he was left with the fucking nightmare of attempting to figure out what the ever-loving fuck to do with this guy. Obviously, he couldn’t just leave him here. The whole reason that their fear tactics worked in the first place was the fact that they spared no one; no mercy, no survivors. If they left Ryan alive here it’d be showing a weakness to any potential rebels within the kingdom and yet…

He didn’t exactly want to kill the man either. Fucking weird as it was to admit, he hadn’t been kidding before about showing Ryan mercy. The man genuinely _did_ intrigue him, plus there was the breath of fucking fresh air that was his lack of pandering to Michael. But if he didn’t want him dead, and he couldn’t leave him here… well he honestly wasn’t entirely sure which options that left him with here.

“Look, just fucking bring him with you if you have to. It’s already beginning to get dark and Lindsay really wasn’t kidding about the dick mounting thing.” And just like that, the perfection solution to the issue just seemed to click into place.

“You heard him, you’re coming with us to Achievement City.”

“You’re going to bring the man who tried to _kill_ you into your home?”

“I could just give the order to have Ray over there slit your throat instead-”

“Hey, I wasn’t saying no, just taking a moment to question your pretty poor fucking life choices…”

\----

Ryan knew his instincts had been right to trigger that sense of dread when Michael had ordered him back to his court.

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that he _disliked_ the idea of being around people. His existence had been a fairly lonely one back on his farm lands, and his only _real_ interactions with people had been the ones with prospective buyers in the settlement Michael’s knights had destroyed so a change of circumstance was actually pretty great in that respect.

But all the same, he couldn’t help but feel… out of place. It’d been pretty damn clear, to him at least, that the Knight who’d suggested it had been _joking_ when he’d told Michael to bring him back to court, just to get the man to hurry along with his decision (which he was pretty sure they’d _all_ been assuming was execution) and yet… here he was, in the capital of the Kingdom; center of it’s cultural, militant and financial exploits, and with _no fucking idea_ what he was actually meant to be doing here.

He found himself homesick, perhaps ridiculously so for a man his age with no one other than the dead and his cow to leave behind him, and growing more and more frustrated as the days continuously seemed to pass with little to no incident. Sure, he was kept well fed but it almost seemed that everyone, _including_ the monarch that’d dragged him here, had just… forgotten him.

It’d actually been a mistake when he’d wound up within the Red King’s courtroom for the first time. He’d been wandering through the tower’s many halls, trying to find _something_ to occupy himself, when a stern looking woman with flowing red hair had caught hold of his sleeve, rushing him and a few other snooty looking men towards a grand looking room as she insisted that if a single one of them was late for her council again, she’d have them all neutered.

And even though Ryan had _known_ he hadn’t belonged there, something about the sharp look in the woman’s eyes had kept him from protesting as he’d been hurried into the room, taking a seat on one of the benches as the meeting had been suddenly called into session. He’d been surprised to find that, instead of becoming hopelessly lost, he’d been able to follow the council with relative ease, employing years of selling produce that wasn’t exactly of the _highest_ calibre as practise in the art of manipulation which allowed him to communicate his own contributions to the topics discussed with relative ease.

By the end of the session, the woman in charge had seemed to realize that he wasn’t _actually_ supposed to be there, given the way she’d pulled him aside at the end of the session, but instead of being angry, she’d flashed him a wide grin, complimenting him on his understanding of policy and inviting him to attend the next meeting. And just like that, Ryan Haywood officially, and inadvertently, became a member of the King’s royal council.

Unfortunately, for the most part, it happened to be a group made up of a mix of the overly privileged and the overly disinterested in the realm. In fact, Ryan found that he’d never met a bigger collective of snobbery interspersed with sadism in his life but… of course, there were exceptions that proved that general rule.

The redheaded woman who’d inadvertently initiated him for one, or Lindsay as he came to know her, hand of the King and one of the only intelligent people in a room full of idiots. She had a certain knack for running sessions with an iron fist, and a sharp look in her eye that Ryan was pretty sure she’d only partly honed due to her prior experience in the nether, and mostly due to having to deal with Michael for the last few years as a King. She was also, from what he’d heard, a fierce warrior though she chose to spend most of her time keeping these ‘guardians of the realm’ in check.

And that was definitely a task she couldn’t afford distractions from given how ignorant, stubborn and, at some points, downright moronic they could get. Especially when they slipped into their regular, simpering, ‘loyalty’ routine as they praised their Bloody King, showering him in false flatteries that had Michael’s and his own eyes rolling in tandem as they were forced to sit through and endure it… He was pretty sure he’d even caught Lindsay sighing in frustration a couple of times as one of the men from the nether realm, an archer who went by the name Mark Nutt, had rambled poetic about the way the King’s hair held this ‘radiant glow’ in a certain light.

He’d found a kinship, however, with one of the other councillors who seemed to consider the practise of kissing the King’s ass like that equally unnecessary as Ryan did; a man known as Jack Pattillo.

Apparently he was one of a handful of councillors who’d been a part of the former King’s court and had transferred to Michael’s upon the instance of Geoff’s untimely demise. He was sharp, had a good mind for politics and an even better one for people. Because if _anyone_ understood people best in that courtroom, it was him. It was Jack, not Michael, not Lindsay, that had roughly half of the councillors eating out of the palm of his hand. Even the Hand herself had taken a shine to the man which, as far as Ryan could tell, was a pretty damn rare occurrence, even amidst the inner council of Michael’s court.

Jack had been the first person in Achievement City to ask Ryan a question about his wellbeing, and to _genuinely_ seem to care about the answer he gave. He’d readily taught him a few tricks to make his life as a member of the court easier, given him a detailed list of who it was best to ally with and who it was best to avoid, and had even made arrangements to have Ryan’s cow safely delivered to the King’s private farms when he’d realized Ryan had been missing him.

In short, Jack actually gave a damn about those around him, in a way that very few others in his position ever seemed to. The man even seemed to hold an empathy for the crown’s _enemies_ in some of the councils that were called, the ones who threatened to rebel in the name of the ‘late and true King’. Ryan suspected that was more to do with the quiet sort of sadness that always seemed to linger in his gaze though, especially whenever he’d catch sight of members of the court with their significant others… The man had lost someone, someone he’d cared for deeply, perhaps even loved. That much was obvious to anyone who’d held the man’s gaze for long enough.

He’d tried tentatively broaching the subject with the man once, receiving little more than a sad smile and the confirmation that he’d ‘once loved a good man’ in response… But Ryan had his theories, based on the way the sadness also seemed to creep in whenever Jack caught sight of the too-large crown that rested on Michael’s head. He’d loved the man who’d come before the Bloody King; King Geoffrey, the same man who so many believed the new monarch had ‘taken care of’ himself in order to seize his power and titles.

And honestly? Ryan wasn’t entirely sure whether he believed that or not himself because… while the King certainly did live up to his ‘bloody’ and ruthless reputation, Ryan couldn’t help but notice that his legendary ‘coldness’ only ever seemed to be directed towards those he deemed monstrous, and rightfully so if they were anything close to the level of scum that Flynt had been. Michael was cruel where he deemed it necessary in order to be kind and… while that policy was, admittedly, more than a little warped in nature, Ryan could still appreciate the man’s good intentions, even as the cynic in his head couldn’t help but chime in that the road to hell was lined with them.

His knowledge, and therefore his perspective, of Michael was admittedly limited. But all the same, Ryan had always liked to believe he possessed a good set of instincts, a set that were currently _screaming_ at him that the man he was gradually coming to know didn’t quite correlate with the myth he’d heard of him. Perhaps he was wrong and the masses were right but, he just couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was a side of the story that they’d refused to hear, and perhaps even that Michael himself refused to tell.

It wasn’t a topic he got the chance to think about too much though, not with the constant pressures of mediating the council meetings, alongside Lindsay and Jack, as he rapidly rose in those political circles, and navigating the courts as a man looked down upon for his origins whenever the King’s back was turned… Of course he’d anticipated that kind of prejudice when he’d arrived within the courts, a man of lowly origins daring to cross its threshold practically unheard of, even within a court that kept company with the people of the nether realm. To say that certain councillors had been _displeased_ when they’d found out a commoner had somehow ‘tricked’ his way into their numbers was nothing short of a serious fucking understatement.

Of course, none of this was ever said in _Michael’s_ presence, no one would _dare_ to question what they believed were the orders of the Bloody King in his own company after all but... that didn’t mean there weren’t cruel malicious whispers that still occasionally reached Ryan’s ears, or looks shot his way whenever he moved along the vast corridors of Achievement City’s great and vast stronghold known as ‘Ramsey Tower’.

It was the one part of this move to Achievement City’s capital that Ryan could honestly say actually brought him genuine delight. A fort steeped in history, predominantly of the former Ramsey line who’d transformed it, over the past two centuries, into the formidable structure it was today. A tower, legend would have people believe, could touch the very sky itself. Apparently it’d been an aspiration of the first Ramsey Queen and the tradition had since been passed down through the countless generations that’d followed.

What a lot of people forgot was that the tower had been incomplete when the former monarch had died, only finally being finished off by Michael himself in the early stages of his reign. People forgot because it didn’t match up with the ‘Red King’ image of the man. A merciless, heartless man who’d slaughtered former King in cold blood in order to claim his throne. They ‘forgot’ because remembering would make them question what they believed to know about the man who now ruled, the King they’d cowered from and showered in false flatteries for years now.

But even if they chose to ignore it, the fact still remained that it’d been Michael who’d finished such an iconic structure within the kingdom and Ryan found that he couldn’t help but appreciate and admire the love and craftsmanship that had gone into its completion, and the sheer dedication it’d to construct a tower that actually broke through the clouds themselves.

And sometimes, when the pressures of the court got a little too much, and his fellow councillors a little too moronic, he’d find himself a spot in the grassy plains that surrounded it, and would lay back against them, paying little heed to the dirty looks he’d receive from the more ‘noble’ councillors especially for doing so, as he admired the majesty of a tower built out of sheer ambition, dedication and willpower. A beacon of what the realm _should_ stand for, even if most of its ‘protectors’ liked to forget that fact.

And it’d actually been during one of those rare moments he’d actually had time to lay back and admire the structure that he’d first been approached by a Knight from the raid on that small merchant based community he’d used to sell his goods to, months ago now. He wore a deep red rose in his chainmail, that Ryan was pretty sure had less to do with some kind of lady love or courtship, and more to do with the aesthetic beauty of the flower. And if Ryan remembered correctly, it’d been this very knight who’d been the one to suggest Michael bring him back to Achievement City, a change in circumstance that Ryan still wasn’t entirely sure whether to thank the man for or not.

“Ryan? I’m Ray, head of the Red King’s knights. I’ve been told to bring you to his training grounds.” He offered Ryan a hand to help him up that the councillor gladly accepted, levelling the man with a slightly incredulous state in response to the request.

“He wants me to train with his knights?”

“Apparently. Must’ve done something to impress him… well, that or piss him off. It’s kind of hard to tell with ragequit sometimes.”

“Ragequit?”

The man’s lips curled a little at that, into a smile that was almost nostalgic really, “Yeah, an old nickname from back when me, him and Lindsay all still lived in our home realm. Michael was the most excited out of all of us to get started on defending it once we came of age but he had some issues with his sword work at first… or at least in comparison to me and Lindsay. We were both kind of naturals at it.”

That information that the pair of them had taken to the weapon like that didn’t exactly _surprise_ him. Not after he’d seen both of them in action, in their own respective ‘battles’. There was a fire to their words, to their movements, that gave them way as formidable warriors to say the least and Ryan was under no illusions that they couldn’t kick his ass if he gave them a reason to… What he _did_ find surprising was that the great warrior that an entire realm had come to fear _hadn’t_ initially had that same raw talent.

“So not quite the ‘warrior forged in fire’ that people like to make out then?”

“Not quite. He’d push himself extra hard though to make up the difference, working twice as long on his skills as anyone else on his sword work… and occasionally he’d end up getting frustrated at us because we had it so much ‘easier’ than him. The nickname came about after he ended up storming out of one of our training sessions, screaming the he’d ‘officially given the fuck up’. Of course he hadn’t and of course he came back but… the nickname stuck I guess.”

“Sounds like you were close.” Ray quirked an eyebrow at that, his eyes narrowing a little, at Ryan got the distinct impression that he was being reassessed a little in the man’s esteems, though whether in threat level or intelligence he couldn’t be sure.

“Why do you say _were_?”

“I’ve never seen you together outside of training.”

“You’ve been spying on our training? You realize saying stuff like that makes you sound kind of creepy right?”

“You realize I realize you’re saying that to avoid the question, right?”

Ray’s lips quirked into a wry smile at that, “Now I see why Jack and Lindsay like you. Just as annoyingly goddamn perceptive as they are… You’re right though, Michael and I used to be closer.”

“What changed?”

“A lot of things I guess. Usually I opt for the vague ‘we grew apart’ option on this question. The truth is though, his world view changed a lot when he came to Achievement City and not necessarily for the better. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s always been sort of volatile but… there’s things he did after coming here that a lot of people will never forgive him for. I just happen to be one of those people. He was a good man once though, back when we were better friends.”

“What things?”

“He turned on someone within his protection and we all had to pay the price for that…” There was a murmur of something that’d almost sounded like, “Especially Gav,” but Ryan couldn’t quite be certain of it, especially since his mind had been a little preoccupied in its attempts to puzzle out exactly what that ‘price’ might’ve been.

It wasn’t something he was allowed to linger over for too long however, as moments later Ray had latched onto the edge of his sleeve, dragging him towards the Knight’s training grounds as the man finally seemed to remember the reason he’d sought Ryan out in the first place.

\----

Sometimes Michael couldn’t help but wonder if it was selfish that he visited him so little these days.

Because he’d probably have put this off even longer than this if it hadn’t been for Ray’s commentary back when he’d been convincing Ryan to join them on the training grounds. Murmured words with their newest recruit that Michael _knew_ he hadn’t been meant to hear, but had caused him to linger out of curiosity anyway… and it’d been a curiosity he’d regretted the moment the rose knight had mentioned a certain name that most men didn’t even _dare_ to speak in his presence these days.

Because unless they were important, under Michael’s protection or just really fucking lucky, chances were that uttering those five little letters would end in their head resting on a spike by the time Michael was done with them.

It was an extreme reaction he knew. Born from grief, guilt and the price he’d had to pay for a throne he’d never really wanted and… well by this stage, most of his court had learned to give that particular subject a wide berth. Of course he had exceptions that would get away with it but, most of the time, they wouldn’t utter it either; whether out of a fearful respect or genuine empathy he could never quite be sure. Lindsay was the only confirmed sympathizer in his mind, and Ray? Well, Ray only avoided saying the name because these days he avoided any and all conversations with him.

The only reason the man had even stayed in his court, instead of travelling back through the portal, was because of a sense of ‘obligation to the man Michael had once been’, back when they’d been ‘better friends’... well, that and the roses the man had grown so fond of didn’t grow back home the way they did here.

If it had been anyone else, save perhaps an elite few, Michael would’ve likely slit their throat by now, given them an excuse for this stifling silence that lingered between them but… he could never kill Ray, no more than he could kill Lindsay, nor more than he could’ve killed…

“...Ray?” A soft whisper that made the redhead’s heart clench painfully in his chest.

“No… not Ray.” And immediately the figure at the other end of the room, huddled over amidst the mounds of blankets he’d dragged from the stark, empty bed, closed off to him, muscles tense and gaze unyieldingly glaring a hole into the stone floor, “I’m sure he’ll visit later though… I brought you food.” No response, “More water.” Nothing. “Just let me know if you need anything else, okay?” Not a goddamn peep… but then again, he hadn’t exactly been expecting one from the man who hadn’t directed a single goddamn word at him in _months_ now.

Eventually the silence got too much, as it always did, and Michael left the man to his solitude, knowing that Ray would already be making plans to visit later, his presence a salve over the emotional wounds Michael’s would have left… Sometimes he wondered if it was selfish to visit so little but other times he couldn’t help but think it was far more fucking selfish to be visiting at all. The man didn’t fucking want him there, wanted to be as far away from the redhead as fucking possible and... Perhaps if Michael was a better man that’d be enough to make him stop visiting.

But Michael, even before all this, had never been a ‘better man’.

\----

Ryan’s first impression of the knight’s training grounds first hand had been that they were far more vast and impressive than the view from his room in Ramsey tower ever gave them credit. There were at least five different plains dedicated to these knights, to honing their skills both alongside their King, and against him as he filled in as their opponent. And at Ryan’s rough estimation, there were approximately fifty knights in all, with training that covered the highest and most elite of skillsets.

It’d been fairly intimidating to say the least the first time he’d wandered into that. A commoner, with no real training, who’d barely even held an iron sword, kitted out in armor that was just the slightest bit too tight on him. Ray claimed that they had blacksmiths already working on the issue, but that hadn’t taken away the discomfort of that first session all the same.

He’d been paired up with Knight Shawcross, a friendly enough man and thankfully without any of the prejudices that most of Ryan’s fellow councillors had seemed to share. He’d been patient with Ryan, running him through the very basics of how to wield a diamond blade, how to manage the extra weight and use its extra sharp point to it ultimate advantage.

And it’d taken a few more sessions before Ryan had managed to _really_ get to grips with the weapon but eventually, through aching muscles and countless hours on the training grounds, he found himself finally able to wield the blade to the standard Kerry had been aiming for.

After that, his training had been passed over to another knight, Knight Denecour, or Caleb, who took his time to show Ryan the finer points of swordsmanship. His training was a lot less patient that Kerry’s had been but, in a way, that was a good thing because it’d kept Ryan sharp, alert and a progressing in his abilities at a rate that had surprised even him.

He’d been meant to receive further training from another Knight who went by ‘Kdin’ after that, but apparently the King had been impressed enough by his rate of progress that he’d decided to take Ryan’s training into his own hands.

The first thing Ryan had learned about training with Michael was that the King well and truly pulled no punches on the training ground. And he fully expected you to do the same, to match him as best you could in speed, agility, balance. If you fucked up? Tough. It was a harsh way to train his knights but Ryan found he could understand it well enough. He left no room for mercy because an opponent certainly wouldn’t. Michael trained his knights to be prepared to always fight at their optimum capacity, to be ready for anything, and as much as Ryan’s muscles protested his methods, his mind acknowledged the fact that with a few weeks under the King’s ever watchful gaze, his abilities upon the training grounds had improved tenfold.

On top of those sessions with the King however, he was still expected to train regularly alongside the Knights and it was through this training that Ryan had come to witness for himself that everyone within their number, save perhaps Ray, was fucking _terrified_ of their King.

It became quickly apparent after noting the way the warriors held back when they fought their King, much to the man’s obvious frustration given his methods of training that Ryan was _more_ than familiar with by this point. Ray of course never held back, and Ryan followed the man’s example in that. He could tell Michael appreciated it, even as his rapidly improving skills were still admittedly sloppy when compared with the other knights, because at least he was fucking _trying._

Of course they both knew it’d be a long time until he was a real match for any of these warriors, let alone their leader, but he’d already won the King’s respect through the effort he put in. And since, unlike the other knights, there was no real stigma of fear or loathing for him that clung to their ruler, he could appreciate that respect with a grateful smile and the internal mantra to keep pushing himself harder.

He wasn’t entirely sure when ‘not fearing’ had actually turned to ‘liking’ the man, but he figured it’d happened somewhere between the playful banter they now shared during training sessions and the stage where a couple of, admittedly underhand, tactics had managed to get Caleb on his backside with Ryan’s sword at his throat. He’d caught what he was pretty sure had been a proud look in the man’s eyes in response to that, even as Knight Denecour had playfully goaded him about using ‘underhand tactics’, because the man understood, like Ryan understood, that in battle, most men didn’t fight fair.

He’d commended Ryan for it later in their private training, had even asked him to demonstrate the move he’d used to ground the man, and within weeks of that demonstration, the King had been altering their training regime to include this use of ‘dirty’ tactics. And perhaps it’d been the contrast between this and the way the majority of the man’s councillors still attempted to ignore him in court but… he’d found himself almost overwhelming grateful to be noticed, and for his ideas to be recognised as valued contributions.

Perhaps that was when ‘not fearing’ and ‘respect’ had changed into the almost friendship they shared now, and perhaps that was why he found himself suddenly furious with the way the rest of those around the Red King seemed to silently judge him for some crime that he’d supposedly committed. Because whatever that crime was, Ryan was almost _certain_ the man was innocent of it.

It’d been after one particularly intense group training session, where one of the knights had literally spent a good ten minutes babbling apologies to the King after he’d accidentally glanced the man’s cheek with his sword, that Ryan’s curiosity had finally reached his peak and he’d wound up seeking out Jack’s council for some kind of answers to the questions buzzing around in the back of his head. Because if anyone would actually know the real reason why these people feared their monarch so much, it’d be him.

Initially, Jack had seemed hesitant to say anything at all, offering up half answers and apologetic smiles. But Ryan had continued to press the issue, eventually managing to wheedle out a little more information about their King. He’d found out that Michael had once had a father figure this side of the portal, one that he’d loved and been intensely loyal to… Well, that was until the day he’d come to slaughter the man in his sleep.

Something in the man’s tone when he’d told Ryan the last part of that the story though told him that it wasn’t necessarily what’d actually happened, just the version of events that the knights, and perhaps the councillors too, had chosen to believe in.

All the same, it’d been a thought that’d lingered in his mind long after his conversation with Jack. Because sure _he_ obviously didn’t believe it but… what if instead of being the right minority, he was the wrong one? Certainly Ray seemed to believe Michael was guilty of something, and the man had grown up alongside him so surely he’d have a better image of what their King was that Jack did.

On the other hand, Jack was easily the most perceptive person he’d ever met in the political field. He understood people better than anyone else Ryan had ever met, certainly better than Ray… and if he’d sensed that kind of darkness in their current monarch before he’d acted to kill their former one, surely he’d have intervened before Michael had the chance to do so. He just couldn’t picture the councillor standing by and letting it happen, especially if what he’d theorised before and himself and the late King Geoffrey was true...

He hadn’t meant to comment on in during his training session with Michael the next day. They’d been talking about the threat of the Ender realm and the fact that their ambassadors were as often assassins as they were actual ambassadors. And Ryan had made a casual inquiry, seemingly harmless in nature, as to whether or not the nether realm ever adopted the same practice… And Michael had _known_ without a single other word being uttered what he’d really been asking.

Seconds later and the man’s blade was resting against the hollow of his throat, his sword halfway across the grass and no one around for miles to hear his cries for help, if Ryan had been the type to resort to such measures. And for a brief moment, Ryan had almost wondered if it was a guilty conscience driving the man’s actions… but then he’d caught the King’s gaze, caught the look within it, and had seen nothing but a raw sort of unearthed pain that almost felt like betrayal.

It was at that precise moment that Ryan had realized he should’ve just listened to his fucking instincts because that wasn’t the expression of a guilty man, but a framed one.

For one long silent moment he’d almost been convinced that the King intended to break skin, to slit his throat then and there, tear into it and leave him to bleed out across the grassy plains of the training grounds but… the blade seemed to hesitate in its motions after that, still resting against the skin of his neck, but refusing to draw blood. And then, as suddenly as it’d appeared, the blade had been absent from his skin entirely as Michael growled an order to ‘get the fuck out of here’.

It’d been an order that Ryan hadn’t even hesitated to obey.

\----

Michael fucking hated this realm.

Had he not made a promise to a dying man to stay behind and protect it he’d have been out of here and back through that ever tempting portal, kept hidden within the depths of the nearby woods, years ago now. But he’d made it, and to a man he’d respected and loved enough to barely even _consider_ breaking that promise since, no matter how fucked up and frustrating life on this side of the portal got sometimes.

It _was_ tempting though, especially on days like this, just to consider it for a few moments. To return to his family, to Mogar and the comfortingly simple role of being a protector of the nether realm, with its easily defeated monsters and it’s people that didn’t secretly judge Michael for every last goddamn breath he drew.

He fucking _despised_ the way they looked at him sometimes, when they believed his back was turned. Whispers of ‘king slayer’ hot at his heels, the looks in his people’s eyes that told him that whatever the truth may be, they _all_ fucking held him accountable for Geoff’s death. That they, in all honestly, _believed_ that he was responsible for killing the only man who’d ever actually treated him like a son.

As if he fucking would.

If there was one thing that Michael had always believed in, beyond his cause to slay the monsters of the realms he protected, it was that those who earnt your loyalty were in your protection. You defended them with sweat, tears, even blood if necessary. And there’d been a time where he’d readily have died for King Geoff, in a goddamn heartbeat if the man had ever asked. He’d thought the others had known that, had understood his loyalty even because they’d shared it but…

Even Lindsay, ever loyal and non-judgemental despite the fact that she’d shared a close bond with the King herself, seemed to believe he’d done it. And Ray _definitely_ did if those words he’d uttered to him the day Michael had ‘seized’ the throne were anything to go by.

_“I’ll stay out of loyalty to them, and to the man you once were. But make no fucking mistake, you try to hurt Lindsay, Gavin or anyone else within_ my _protection? You’ll be going out the same goddamn way you sent him.”_

Jack had been the only one at the time to refute the claims, making sure Michael knew himself that he didn’t resent him or blame him for the late King’s death, and that he sure as hell didn’t believe the rumors that were beginning to spread throughout the kingdom now. And considering that his relationship with Geoff had run far deeper than anyone’s else's with the late King, to have that man’s support and faith in him had been just enough to keep him from teetering over the edge into a grief driven insanity.

Because Jack had believed in him, and Geoff too as he’d made Michael promise to rule in his stead, and they both deserved _so much fucking better_ than a monarch who crumbled under the pressures of other people’s cruel words and false claims.

He’d hardened himself to the Kingdom, accepted his role as their villain because better him than someone who genuinely wished the masses harm. And that, he supposed, was when the ‘cold spark’ that the legends chose to wax lyrical about had found its way into his gaze. The coldness of a man resigned to a fate he’d never have chosen for himself, and the distance of a man who’d had to force back his grief, anger and the creeping, crushing sense of isolation his new role had brought him, in the fear of crumbling otherwise.

All the same, he clearly hadn’t hardened himself enough if Ryan was still able to get to him just by buying into the rumors the citizens spread. He supposed it was because the man had always seemed to treat him like a fucking person, an equal even, never showing signs of fear, never trying to kiss his ass and without that frustrating glimmer of doubt in his gaze that’d always seemed to linger in everyone else’s, save Jack’s, since the late King’s demise.

He’d come to depend upon Ryan believing him, or perhaps simply believing _in_ him. And, in doing so, he’d allowed the man in close enough that his opinion had come to fucking matter. The way Jack’s, or Geoff’s, or Lindsay’s, or Ray’s, or G… the way _theirs’_ always had. He’d allowed someone else to bury deep enough beneath his defences that they were able to hurt him, and the fresh wounds fucking _burned_ …

Yeah, he really fucking hated this realm.

\----

“He didn’t kill him did he?”

Jack had turned at the sound of Ryan’s voice, a sad sort of smile coming to his lips as he shook his head, “Michael loved Geoff, practically hero worshipped him sometimes… people just forget these things because it’s easier to blame the obvious enemy than a threat we’re less likely to be able to combat.”

“And what enemy was that?”

“Judging by the wounds it left behind? I’d say it was more the Ender tribe’s style. They had two ambassadors from the realm visit us that night and neither were anywhere to be found by the time Michael had been found with the body.”

“Wait he was found _with_ the body? How do you know it wasn’t him then?”

“I was one of the first people to find him after the murder took place. I got to see him before his masks were up and… I saw how fucking scared and vulnerable he was. You know three knights had to physically drag him from the room, just to get him to let go of Geoff’s body? Does that really strike you as the actions of the man who killed him?” Ryan shook his head, “I tried to clear his name at first, but the courts refused to listen to me, especially when Michael then took the crown for his own. Geoff’s dying wish had been for Michael to continue his legacy… I just don’t think he realized what the legacy was that he was leaving behind.”

Ryan offered the man a sympathetic look at that, “I don’t think he did too badly with the legacy he left. One giant tower, the least corrupt council there’s been in centuries and a considerable drop in poverty rates across the kingdom… Give it a few centuries and people will realize what a great choice he made in handing over the throne to Michael too. Because it’s not public opinion that’ll stand the test of time here,” And with that he moved to lightly tap the book Jack had in hand, the one that contained the records of the last hundred or so council meetings, “It’s ours, or more specifically yours. You know the real story and so that’s what people will ultimately remember.”

There was a beat of silence before Jack’s smile widened, and moments later he found himself pulled into a quick but warm hug, the man pulling back a little sheepishly after that, “Sometimes I wonder how it is that the one person who wasn’t here when it happened has a better perspective on all this that the rest of the council combined.”

“What can I say? I’ve always had good instincts.”

\----

Michael been practising his sword work alone on one of the empty training fields when he’d first spotted the sheepish looking knight making his way across them towards him, “I guess I owe you an apology… my lord.”

“Don’t even fucking start with that bullshit. It’s Michael, it’s always been Michael and I’ll kick your ass if you even _think_ about calling me anything else.” He knew his slight smile must’ve been giving away his real mood, hidden away behind his faux anger, because moments later there was a slight smile curving the man’s lips as obvious relief sparked to life in the man’s eyes.

“Michael it is… All the same, the apology part still stands. What I suggested was out of line and-”

“Nothing I haven’t had said to me in various ways a thousand fucking times before. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

“I was wrong to suggest it though.”

“You were?” He couldn’t quite help the surprise that colored his tone because… accusing Michael of things he hadn’t done was something the King was definitely used to at this point but, _believing_ him?

“You trying to convince me you _did_ kill Geoff?”

“Fuck no. Just surprised someone other than Jack actually fucking _believes_ that.”

“You’re many things Michael, certainly ‘Bloody’ enough to have earned your title… but it’d take a fucking dumbass not to see you’re innocent in this.” And for a moment Michael’s breath had actually caught in his throat in response to that, the overwhelming relief and gratitude hitting him like a goddamn rail cart, and it’d taken a lot longer than Michael would like to admit for him to have responded because of that.

“You realize you just called my entire court, minus Jack, fucking dumbasses right?”

“You telling me I’m wrong about that?”

“I’m telling you you’d best fucking hope Lindsay never hears you called her that.” The man’s lips had curled into a light, amused grin at that, one Michael had recently found himself noticing was almost _unfairly_ attractive with the way the man wore it.

“Hey if she does and I do go down, I’m dragging you with me.”

“Fucking try it Haywood.” He’d gestured vaguely towards Ryan’s figure, diamond sword still in hand, though both of them knew at this point that his threat was an idle one at best.

“Sure, sure. Want to go finish that training session you ragequit?”

“ _I_ ragequit? Just for that I’m going to show you no fucking mercy this time.”

“When do you ever?”

“Ass.”

“Dick.” And then because, for all Michael had been through in his life so far, he was still fucking _five_ at heart, he’d dissolved into amused laughter, “Sounds like we’re made for each other, huh?” And Ryan was smirking that wide unrepentant fucking smirk of his, the knight joining him in his laughter moments later as the pair of them wandered across the training grounds to grab Ryan’s armor from the armory.

And for once, Michael honestly didn’t give a damn if people saw them together, saw him laughing, and noted it down as a chink in the ‘Bloody King’s’ armor because it was more than fucking worth it for the overwhelming untempered feelings of a contented sort of relief and companionship that he hadn’t felt in goddamn _years_.

\----

After that day on the training grounds, where Ryan had admitted he believed in Michael’s innocence, he’d found that a strange sort of... _understanding_ seemed to develop between them. At first, it’d been little things like the silent acknowledgement that their banter should steer away from certain topics, but gradually it’d progressed into occasional heart to hearts, though neither of them would actually fucking _call_ them that, when the pressures of ruling got too much, in Michael’s case, or of being one of the few smart people in a room full of idiots, in Ryan’s, and they both just needed to fucking _vent_ to someone they knew with all certainty wouldn’t judge them for it.

And it’d been through one those talks with Michael as the focus that he’d eventually been told about a man called Gavin David Free. Apparently he’d been somewhat of a surrogate son to Geoff, though one who’d never had much, if any, interest in ruling (which was why the former monarch had chosen to leave the throne to Michael, not him). The pair had undeniably been close though, closer perhaps than even Michael and Geoff had been.

He’d been… ‘hyperactive’ as far as Ryan could tell from Michael’s narrative of him. A young man with a big heart and very poor capabilities with a sword. Apparently though he’d more than made up for that with the skill he’d possessed with a bow and arrows. And he’d been loved, that much was obvious. Loved by Geoff, by the people of Achievement City, by Jack and Ray and perhaps Michael most of all.

Because it was abundantly clear from the way the man described him that Gavin had been important to him. Like a brotherly figure as far as Ryan could tell, perhaps even more than that…

But then the man had found Michael outside Geoff’s chambers, after the knights had dragged him out, his hands covered in Geoff’s blood from where he’d refused to let go and... apparently he’d assumed the worst. The thing that’d haunted Michael the most though, was that he’d apparently seemed fine at first, seemed to believe Michael’s claims, and seemed to support him when others didn’t. He hadn’t known the man had been attempting to lull Michael into a false sense of security, only to make an attempt at his life a few months later. It was where the ugly red line across the man’s shoulder had come from, his knife having caught the skin there just moments before Lindsay had managed to incapacitate the man and drag him away to a holding cell.

The visible scars the blade had left, however, had been _nothing_ in comparison to the emotional scars caused by what’d followed after that. Because at some point between striking Michael with his blade, and being dragged off to a holding cell, the man had given up on avenging Geoff… and had seemed to give up on the world around him entirely. Because after that he’d barely ate, had slept sporadically at best and _never_ directly uttered another goddamn word towards the man he’d believed to be Geoff’s killer.

Michael had cared for him anyway though, the bonds of their pseudo brotherhood driving him to move Gavin from a cell to a private room, somewhere more comfortable and bright. The man had never offered any kind of gratitude for that, but it hadn’t seemed to phase the King. He’d also ordered for regular, high class, meals to be delivered to his chambers, most of the time by Ray, but occasionally the King would brave a visit of his own, only to be met with a stark, cold silence.

It must’ve been torturous for the man all these years, watching a man he’d been so close to shut him out so entirely, and it wasn’t as if it was an isolated incident either. Sure, none of the other cases were quite so extreme as Gavin’s… but he’d seen the apathy in Ray’s eyes, the occasional doubts in Lindsay’s, and the obvious fear and judgements within knight and councillor alike… no wonder the man hated false flatteries. They probably felt like salt being rubbed into the gaping wound of his isolation, a false companionship that’d just reminded the man of how much his life was lacking of the real thing.

And it honestly infuriated Ryan to consider the way these people, people who’d grown up with and had supposedly known this man better than anyone, had been unable to realize Michael’s innocence when really it stood out clear as fucking day.

Of course, he couldn’t confront every person within the man’s court who doubted him, but at the very least he’d decided he could pay a visit to the one that should’ve known to believe in Michael the most, especially considering that the pair had been almost-brothers once upon a time.

It’d been after one particularly long, and draining, council meeting that he’d finally managed to track down the room in question, knowing he had the right one the moment he’d entered it, only to find a scruffy haired dusty blonde sat in the corner of the room, staring blankly at one of the walls. It’d been the thornless red rose tucked away behind the man’s ear that’d really given him away as Gavin though, as well as confirming Ryan’s long running suspicions that the reason Ray truly held Michael accountable for what’d happened had a lot less to do with the late King and more to do with this man.

He’d taken a seat on the untouched bed, knowing its lack of use was likely out of spite towards the man who’d provided it and determined that if Gavin wasn’t going to make use of it, he fucking well would. And they’d sat there for a moment, in utter silence, until Ryan had finally broken it, “I doubt you’re even going to listen to me once I say his name, are you? Let me start then with saying I’m sorry for your loss. Geoff sounds like he was a really great man, and an even better King. It would’ve been an honor to know him…” A slight nod from the corner, the man almost looking away from the wall to meet Ryan’s gaze, obviously hesitant to do so given that he had to be only used to Michael and Ray visiting him but… Ryan found that he honestly didn’t want to meet the gaze of a man who’d turned his back so entirely upon his best friend like that.

“But you’re wrong about the reason he’s gone now. Michael _didn’t_ kill him. He’s ruthless, sure, bloody, no doubt but… only towards those he honestly believes deserve it. Those he cares about get a free pass and anyone who actually _looked_ at him when he talks about Geoff, would _know_ he didn’t kill him… I know you used to know that, didn’t you? But I’m guessing Ray’s been filling your ears with the same lie you’ve been telling yourself for years now huh?” The slightest of shifting in movement but not a single utterance of sound… But then again, Ryan hadn’t really been expecting one.

“I don’t hate you for it, and I know Michael only hates himself. But he hates himself for reasons other than the ones you believe he does, and it’s those reasons that make me hate the _circumstances_ you’ve put him through. You and all of his other so called friends who were meant to believe in him when no one else did, not just _pretend_ to. Lucky for you, I’m willing to fill the post you all so readily abandoned.” He paused for a moment, waiting for the anger that’d gradually begun to build up as he’d spoken to simmer down but… all he could feel, as he watched the scruffy haired man who’d caused Michael so much goddamn pain, was a white hot rage that tore through him and, before he’d even realized it, his lips were moving again, more words spewing forth in his anger.

“Geoff left the throne to Michael for a goddamn reason, made him _swear_ to stay in this realm because _he_ believed you wouldn’t turn on him in the way you all did. _He_ believed you were better than that. And honestly, if he knew it’d taken a fucking outsider to actually see through to this man’s innocence, he’d probably be turning in his fucking grave right now… Okay, so maybe I do resent a little more than the circumstances. But it’s not as if you, who’s spent years hating an innocent man for another’s death, can judge me for that. Is it?”

\----

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Lindsay had pointed it out, Michael wouldn’t even have realized it’d been a whole year since Ryan had first arrived within his court.

It seemed almost strange now to consider that the man had first been brought here as nothing more than a fucking spur of the moment decision, based on the fact that the man had actually had the guts to stand up to him in an, admittedly weak, attempt to kill him… and maybe Ryan had been right back then when he’d claimed the King did have a tendency to make pretty poor life choices, because this scenario sure as hell could’ve turned out a _lot_ worse.

Michael knew he’d been more than a little fucking lucky that Ryan hadn’t tried to kill him since, that a look of resentment had never managed to enter the man’s gaze, especially after he’d been exposed to Ray, Kerry, Caleb, Kdin and countless others who honestly believed him responsible for Geoff’s death… and he’d been even fucking luckier that the man had chosen to be influenced by Jack’s view of him instead, that he’d chosen to believe in Michael, even as he’d given the man hardly any reasons to do so.

Ryan put it down to ‘instincts’ when Michael had commented on it, but he just put it down to the commoner come councillor and knight being a far better man than he ever seemed to give himself credit, though he never voiced that opinion given that he fucking _knew_ the man would shake it off, likely even turn it around so Michael was the one being accused of being too harsh on himself.

The man was clever with words like that, and Michael had never claimed to being anything remotely fucking _close_ to a wordsmith.

There was a reason, after all, that unlike Michael in council room, Ryan fucking _flourished_ , to the extent that even the cynical whispers about the man’s lowly origins seemed to be fast fading out from the courtrooms… or perhaps that was simply a result of the fact that, these days, the man was almost as formidable a warrior as Michael himself.

It’d created an aura of respect amongst the knights, tinged with just the slightest hint of intimidated fear given that Ryan was well on the way to surpassing even _Ray_ in skill, and he’d only been wielding his blade for a handful of months now. Of course, people claimed it was Michael’s influence over him, that the ‘Red’ and ‘Bloody’ King was somehow influencing him to carry out nefarious deeds for his ruler but Michael had found those rumors stung a lot less these days, and he was pretty sure he had Ryan to thank for that.

Because it was pretty fucking hard to take a rumor to heart when you had someone to laugh at it with, and boy did Ryan seem to delight in picking the masses’ words apart for him.

It was strange to think that just over a year ago he hadn’t even known this man who now seemed to him such an essential fucking part of his existence. Deep down, he knew he’d be fucking _lost_ without Ryan at this point, even more so than he’d initially been without Gavin, and he was pretty sure he was finally starting to realize exactly why that was.

He’d never really expected it to be someone of this realm, of the land he’d so despised all these years, the lands of monsters and yet… perhaps he’d been a little quick to judge there. Because Ryan was easily the most fucking beautiful thing he’d seen in either realm, and a part of him must’ve known that from day one because he honestly doubted he’d have stayed his blade for anyone else.

\----

It was only when his sword work was practically as good as the King’s himself that Michael had _finally_ taken him on one of his campaigns.

He’d noticed the frequency of those seemed to have dropped considerably over the last few months, especially after Ryan had admitted to believing in him, but both knight and monarch alike still knew that these ‘scare tactics’ were still a necessary evil to defend against the countless citizens who’d be willing to ‘avenge’ their fallen King, and since Ryan was more than familiar enough with the man’s ethics at the point to know he’d only target those who’d brought it upon themselves, he found the thought of taking part in this village-wide slaughter was something that probably disturbed him a lot less than it actually _should._

But then again, this realm was far from the black and white landscape that the majority of its citizens would have it depicted as, and Ryan fundamentally refused to feel guilty for something that both he and Michael had come to interpret as _justice._

Which was why he’d barely even flinched when he’d recognised the village they were targeting as the one Ryan had been born into, raised in, and had lived in until that one fateful day he’d decided to trade his wheat in that one little merchant community on the borders of Achievement City.

And perhaps it made him sound almost _heartless_ to react with so little empathy to this community, and these people, he’d once known but… the fact was, Ryan _had_ known them, and through that he knew _exactly_ why Michael had chosen to target this particular community.

Because sure it seemed idyllic enough at a first glance, but so did any community before you really got to know its inhabitants. The ‘kindly’ old lady who’d come to greet the knights had been the one responsible for letting him brother, and countless other children within the village, starve just so that she could continue to grow her ‘special’ herbs that apparently ‘added to the flavor’ of her meals.

The young, seemingly charming, man who’d come out to join her moments later, Ryan knew, was responsible for the disappearance of that one girl who’d used to live across from him in the village, who’d used to bring Edgar treats when she could. She’d been the one sole member of this community that Ryan had actually liked and… it didn’t take much of an imagination to figure out exactly what this man had done with her.

There were countless others too. The woman who’d used to steal wheat from his fields, and even milk from his cow. The man who’d bartered both of his daughters off to rich men in order to live a little more comfortably in his later years. The young girl who delighted in threatening to spread false rumors about affairs in exchange for profit… for years Ryan had lived amongst scum, and he’d known that because he’d happened to stumble upon the information, or sometimes even witness it first-hand. But he’d never said a goddamn word, because who the hell would fucking listen to him anyway.

Michael would.

He’d seen the look of recognition in Ryan’s eyes, clearly realizing this was a place he’d been familiar with before he’d joined his court, and had actually waited for _him_ to give the Bloody King the okay, before he’d ordered his knights to attack.

He’d actually respected Ryan enough to let him have the final say here… and it was in that moment that it _finally_ clicked into place exactly why he’d been feeling so fiercely loyal towards this man as of late.

\----

Michael knew he shouldn’t be getting fucking distracted, not in a moment like this where his brutality was a necessity for his ‘Red’ and ‘Bloody’ reputation but… he couldn’t help it. There was just something strangely entrancing about watching Ryan at work.

Of course it hadn’t always been this way, it’d taken fucking _months_ of training to get him anywhere near decent with the blade he now wielded expertly, but Michael himself had been _far_ from a fucking natural the first time he’d picked up his own blade and if anything the time it’d taken the man to reach this point, the sheer dedication and force of will, only made Michael admire the man’s skilled swipes of his weapon all the more as he cut down the supposedly ‘charming’ man who’d greeted them before, the one that it was clear as day that Ryan had a personal score to settle with.

And none of the other knights had _dared_ intervene once they’d realized that.

Because who would dare mess with a knight who, when angered, took on the look of a vengeful god. Give it time and they’d be singing his false praises just as much as Michael’s, he was certain of this. But it hardly mattered to him anymore, because they’d still be able to laugh it off and to know that when Jack came around to writing their story, he’d write the honest tale, no embellishments, ‘Bloody Kings’ or ‘Mad Knights’.

Just him, Ryan and that first adrenaline fuelled kiss he’d pulled the man into in the middle of that village once the fighting was over, hands twisting in the man’s hair as he paid little heed to the horrified whispers surrounding them. Because all that mattered right now was the smooth glide of Ryan’s tongue against his, the man’s firm hands at his back and the slight smirk that had curved his lips as they’d eventually pulled back for air.

Of course there’d be many differing legends that spoke of how the ‘Mad Knight’ had come into his service after this, and of course they’d paint Ryan as a monster, or a victim of Michael’s own fucking ‘monstrous’ nature… but they would know the true story, the _whole_ story and as far as Michael was concerned, the rest of the realm could go fuck themselves.


End file.
